


You're Still Here

by Rosie_Dayze



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Other, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 15:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18552817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_Dayze/pseuds/Rosie_Dayze
Summary: After The Snap your long term girlfriend Natasha comes home to make sure you are still alive.





	You're Still Here

You were at the bank when The Snap happened. For a moment you hadn't noticed anything. Your attention had been focused completely on the television set behind the stately row of equally stately bank tellers. You'd like to say that you'd been making a mental checklist of all the things that needed to be taken care of that day, but you weren't. the other morning you'd gotten a text. The text. The one you hated getting. 

"Hey hun, gonna visit grandma. She's not feeling great. I'll call you when I can." 

It was code. It was always code with Natasha. Grandma meant that she was doing something for Nick Fury, a little joke between the two of you that you couldn't even remember the source of. Not feeling great meant things were bad. And 'I'll call you when I can' meant that radio silence was in effect. Not only was she off to do something super dangerous, but she also wouldn't even be able to call you. 

With a sigh of resignation, you'd called Laura and asked her if she'd gotten something similar. You both felt better if you knew that one super spy assassin was watching the other's back. She'd said yes, and the two of you made plans to meet up in a few days if Clint and Natasha hadn't surfaced. Then you'd started your own little ritual of planning a busy day or three for yourself so that you didn't spend the entire time agonizing over whether or not Natasha was safe. 

You know she's almost never safe. Even when she's in your arms, or you're in hers, there is still the chance that someone who knew her from her pre-Avenger days would try something out of vengeance or desperation. Even so, it makes you feel better when she's there with you rather than off doing something extra dangerous for all the reasons that make it impossible to be mad at her. 

So you'd cleaned the little, nondescript, two bedroom, ranch-style home that the two of you shared. You changed the sheets and organized that one closet that both of you used to store everything you didn't really want, but didn't want to get rid of. One chore turned into another until the entire house was squeaky clean. One day had become another, and then a third. You went to lunch with Laura. Both of you pretended that you weren't worried. You'd made all the dinners that she didn't like; partly because she wasn't there to complain, and partly out of petulance. Why didn't she call, you asked yourself as you speared your fork against a plate and watched a mindless comedy. You distracted yourself with anything and everything and, finally, made the trip to the bank that you'd been putting off because you really hate having to go. 

There is only one bank in your little town, and you are pretty sure the same nine people have worked there their entire lives. Katie, the nearly retires lady who counts twenties faster than you can think. Shawnda, head clerk and financial advisor. Paul, awkward math nerd who blushes whenever he takes your money. The only new person they've hired since you've been coming there is Patti, who used to run the checkout counter at the local grocery store. 

And there you were, watching the news, just waiting for a sign. You wait to see a broadcast about a bombing in Germany, or an alien invasion, or even a city falling out of the sky. You wait to see that flash of red hair or that devilish smirk. Anything to tell you that the love of your life is alive and well. 

You hadn't meant to fall in love with a super-spy-slash-assassin. In fact, you'd been kinda opposed to the idea. But Natasha had been relentless. She'd taken one look at you and decided right away that you were absolutely the one for her. She'd plied you with gifts and romantic dates, and somehow you'd ended up moving to a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere and buying a house together. Almost five years of nearly uninterrupted domestic bliss later and you are still sure that she's the best thing that has ever happened to you. 

But the TV remains steadfastly empty of her, or any of the Avengers. There is no news of any catastrophe. And that continuing nothingness is bothering you more than anything. 

"Next," a bank teller says in that polite but empty tone of the long-term customer service worker. You look up, give an equally polite smile and take two steps. 

"Katie?" one of the tellers says. "What's wrong?" There is just enough anxiety in those three words that you find your attention shifting. Katie, a middle-aged woman with plump cheeks and a sweet smile, has the oddest look on her face. She touches a single hand to her pink blouse. Her eyes go glassy. She makes a shocked O with her primly painted lips and then everything pales. It's like someone turned down the contrast. Lines formed, flaky and defined. Like the ones on an old painting that someone hasn't taken care of. A breeze you see, but don't feel, sweeps through the room and it's only then that you realize that it's not just Katie. It's Paul, and Margot, and Shawnda. People that you might not have known outside of seeing them at the bank, or around town, but were steadfast fixtures in your life anyway. 

And right before your eyes they were disappearing. You stood there, frozen, and watched as they vanished from existence. 

"Oh god," someone whispered. There were only two people left in the bank, you and Patti. She looks up at you with wide, young eyes. "What happened? What do we do?" 

Those two questions became the center of your life for almost five days. What had happened? What are you supposed to do? You'd gone to work for a couple of days, but it just hadn't seemed to have a point. All those little things that filled up your day before everyone had vanished seemed like distant trivialities. What did it matter if shelves got stocked? What did it matter if you ate? You hadn't been able to get Laura on the phone and honestly, you were too afraid to go out there and check on her. Afraid that it might confirm the worst. 

So, days after everyone had vanished, you went home. You locked your doors and you turned off your television. You crawled into bed and just waited for it to go. Because with each passing day you were sure that Natasha was gone. You were sure that she, like everyone else, had vanished. You wondered why it couldn't have been you too. You wondered how long you'd last without her. You comfort yourself with fantasies that will never happen and cripple yourself with dark daydreams that very well might. 

The hand on your shoulder is startling and rough. You find yourself being yanked up out of the sheets. It's dark. With the windows closed and the lights off it's almost too dark. You can feel each individual finger, slim and strong and desperate. You'd know that hand anywhere. 

"Natasha?" you say, wondering if it's a dream. 

You are yanked against familiar curves and the smell of her Avengers suit. 

"You're alive," she whispers. The wetness on your cheeks is from tears. Her's or your's it's impossible to tell. "You're alive." 

You can't speak. A ball of emotion has choked off all the words you'd imagined saying to her if you ever saw her again. They don't matter. Nothing matters but the way her hands sweep down your arms, over your back, and up to your hair were her pale fingers lace. She yanks on the locks until your head dips back and her mouth finds purchase on your neck. You can feel lips and tongue and teeth. Natasha could be a gentle lover when the mood struck her, but she'd always preferred sex with a rough edge. 

"I need you," she growls, her voice harsh in the darkness. Your eyes have adjusted enough that you can make out the line of her chin, and the fall of her hair. It's paler now, almost icy blonde. It's easier to see in the darkness as she pushes you to the mattress, dragging your shirt off as she climbs over you. "I need you right now. Show me you're alive." 

"I'm here," you manage to say, just before her lips find yours. The kiss is all teeth and tongue, driving out any fear that this is a dream. She seizes your lower lip between two teeth and bites hard. You taste blood but you don't care. Your own hands yank at her uniform, dragging it down her shoulders. You take her specially made undergarments with it until she is wearing nothing but skin. The heat of her is intoxicating. 

She growls your name as her hands pin your wrists to the bed. She is so much stronger than she looks. Years of training, you expect. Not that any of that matters as her mouth dips down your body. SHe leaves marks in the wake of her mouth, but every scrape of teeth, every hard kiss reminds you that she is here and the both of you are alive. You squirm beneath her touch, reminded that she knows your every sensual weakness. She plays them with wild abandon.

"Natasha...we should talk." 

"Later," she says, though it's nearly a command. "I need to feel you first. I need to know this isn't a dream." 

She edges your legs apart with a skilled move of her knee. Her hand dips over you and she starts to stroke and tease and explore. The motions are eager, demanding. 

"Look at me," she says. "Look at me. I need to see you." 

Her hand plants on your chest, keeping you against the bed as her hand continues to play. You can see the glitter of her eyes as the motions become almost frantic. There is a dark and desperate need there that is impossible to ignore. 

"Natasha!" you scream out as the orgasm is nearly ripped from you. 

Her lips quirk into a triumphant smile. It's the smile, perhaps, that really gets you. That wonderful, ego filled smile that she gives whenever she makes you lose control. Before the pleasure can abate completely you surge up, kissing her as hard as she kissed you. Your hands graze down her back until you find the wealth of her backside. Your fingers dig into the familiar swell. You yank her into your lap and feel a thrill at the press of her soft breasts. 

With a move she taught you, you send her toppling to the side. Her legs hang over the mattress and she starts to scoot backwards. 

"No," you tell her. "Don't move, not yet." 

She looks up at you, brow quirking, but she lays back. You can see her better now, all the long, pale lines of her. Not for the first time, you tell yourself how lucky you are; but you've never meant it more than now. Your mouth dips to the swell of one breast. The feel of her nipple beneath your tongue is intoxicating. You kiss and suck until her greedy hands push your head down. The taste of her against your tongue is glorious. You settle into the familiar rhythm that you know pleases her best. You ignore her hand as she tries to push you harder, encourages you for more. You want to drag this out to tell her, as best as possible, that you are here. Your hands curl over her hips, holding her still as yout tongue goes slow and steady, turning it into pleasurable torture. She gasps and croons your name until her thighs tighten and you feel the shake and clench of her orgasm against your tongue. 

"I'm here," you say. 

"Oh...I believe you," she says dreamily. 

Eagerly she pulls you back up, and you find the pair of you settled against the sheets and the pillows, her limsb twined with yours. You both lay there, quiet and sated. 

"I was sure you wouldn't be here," she finally says. 

"I'm always going to be here for you."


End file.
